


Bad Timing

by queenseamoose



Series: Saint, Sinner, Savior [2]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenseamoose/pseuds/queenseamoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Abby sits behind the wheel of Tanya Winters' limo, she gets an unwelcome phone call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Timing

The windows were tinted, but she still hunched lower in the driver’s seat as Tanya disappeared into Friendly Fire. It’d been over an hour since she’d pulled up in front of the construction site, and in that hour, her nerves had been frayed thin. Every minute was another opportunity for discovery—and an increased likelihood that things were going terribly wrong for Gat.

He was alive, though, she reminded herself—or at least he had been that morning. She thought of Aisha’s pleading expression as she’d begged her to bring Gat back, only to shiver at the memory of Tanya’s words: _Anthony better have killed Gat by the time I get home…_

Out of nowhere, a frantic beeping from her pocket startled her half out of her wits. She scrambled for her phone, and as her shaking fingers slipped on the buttons as she tried to silence it, she recognized the number—just as she accidently punched the little green symbol. _Shit._

“Abigail?” a tinny voice blared from the speaker. She closed her eyes, heaving a long sigh as she flipped it open and lifted it to her ear.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m here.”

“Well, it’s about time.” Carol Adams’ voice took on a note of exasperation. “This is the fourth time I’ve called you this week. Any particular reason you’re avoiding me?” Abby could practically see her mother’s eyebrow rising in disapproval.

“Mom, I’m not avoiding you,” she protested feebly. “I’ve just been…busy.” Memories from the police station were slipping back: the solid _crack_ as Tony’s gun connected with her skull, Gat’s face contorting in pain, his voice raw and urgent as he yelled for her to run, the sting of shattered glass against her skin… She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Actually, I’m in the middle of something right now, so I’ll have to call you back…”

But her mother wasn’t giving up so easily. “Just a moment, young lady,” she said sternly, and Abby groaned, glancing out the window and breathing a little easier when there was no sign of Tanya.

“Mom—”

“It’s been months, Abigail.” Abby slumped back against the headrest as the irritation in her mother’s tone gave way to something else—sadness, laced with a hint of concern. “You don’t call, you never come by the house anymore, and we’re coming up on a _year_ of school that you’ve missed!” There it was—the frustration, backed by the same force of anger that had driven her from home all those months ago. But to her surprise, her mother somehow managed to suppress it.

“I’m worried about you,” Carol said when she was met with silence. “Living down there in Saints Row, working that job…” Abby knew her mother well enough to know she was shaking her head in disapproval. “You can do better than this, Abby. You _are_ better.”

It was the same chiding tone her mother had used all throughout her childhood: when she didn’t clean her room, when she brought home a B on a test, the first time she’d dented a fender on her father’s car. It was a tone she’d heard often in her last months at home, in those long days spent locked away in her room, when she’d fallen asleep in the frosty blue dawn and awoken to darkness. It was also the same tone she’d heard in her own head her first night on the Row, huddled on her mattress listening to the sounds of traffic outside and gunshots in the distance. And it was the tone she’d heard the day she’d bought the gun, the same gun that was still stashed in a dark crevice between the dusty springs of her sofa. Always that tone, always darkness.

She did another quick check over her shoulder for Tanya before replying. “Mom, this _really_ isn’t a great time.” This conversation needed to end—end quickly, rather.

“Then when?” Carol’s tone had turned sharp, and Abby fought the urge to scream as she glanced down at the clock on the dash. Tanya had been gone long enough; any moment she could walk out the door.

 _When I’m not infiltrating the life of one of the most dangerous women in Stilwater. When Gat’s safe. When the Vice Kings are through._ But since none of those answers would suffice, she said, “Sunday. I’ll come by for dinner.”

There was a pause on the other end, and she allowed herself a quick smirk of satisfaction, knowing that was the last thing her mother had expected. “Well.” Carol cleared her throat. “All right then. Sunday it is. I’ll make meatloaf.” Her tone was still heavy with suspicion—not surprising at all, considering Carol knew _her_ well enough to know she never gave up that easy.

But as luck would have it, her phone began beeping in her ear, and she silently clenched her fist with triumph. “Mom, I’m getting another call,” she blurted out. “I’ve got to go.”

“Oh—well does five o’clock sound good then?” Carol’s voice sounded unaffected by her urgency, and she rolled her eyes.

“Sure thing, Mom. Gotta go. Bye.” And she punched the button, cutting off her mother’s reply.

The other caller was Julius, she noted—odd. She scanned the front of the store for Tanya as his voice flooded through the phone speaker.

_“Hey playa, we got a problem…”_


End file.
